


you've got the silver, the crown, the bloody roses (down on your knees before the queen)

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Heathers, Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Abusive Parents, Blood, Delusions, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional neglect, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Music, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mind the Tags, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Song: The Ballad Of Sara Berry, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, not very shippy, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: Also known as the Ballad of Heather Chandler. This is based on the song 'The Ballad of Sara Berry' from 35mm: A musical exhibition and the amazing animatic video on youtube, with a twist.AU where Martha loses her leg and suddenly becomes popular and is nominated for Prom Queen. Driven on by her father's A+ parenting, Heather Chandler loses herself in doing whatever she needs to do to get the crown.
Relationships: Heather Chandler/Jason "J. D." Dean
Kudos: 20





	you've got the silver, the crown, the bloody roses (down on your knees before the queen)

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z89rHIS50Gg&ab_channel=Cipherdoodles - you should watch this. It's amazing, and it's the basis for my story. The dialogue between J.D. and Heather is based on saijico Simon's comment. Enjoy!

_“Why’d you do it?”_

**_Three months earlier_ **

It was Heather Mcnamara who told them the news. Heather remembered it vividly. It had been a Monday, and Heather Duke and she were standing by their lockers, waiting for Heather M., who was uncharacteristically late. “Have you heard,” she said, full of a sort of nervous glee, “Martha Dumptruck lost her leg in a freak accident.”

“Oh my god, what? That’s amazing.” Heather Duke said. “How did it happen?”

“A car wreck, from what I heard. Drunk driver. Oh look, there she is!”

“Oh my god.” Said Heather Duke. “I wonder—"

“Shut up, Heather,” Heather said automatically. “It’s not as if she’ll be more interesting now that there is less of her.”

“Oh, that’s funny!” Heather Mcnamara tittered, and after a quick glare in Duke’s direction, Heather Duke joined.

And Heather was right. Martha didn’t become more interesting. It was funny to see her struggle opening doors and walking upstairs, and people were being nicer too her, but all in all, Heather spared little thought for Martha Dumptruck until about a week later, when the nominations for Prom Royalty came.

**_._ **

It was Heather Mcnamara who told her. “Martha has been nominated for Prom Queen. I’ve heard people say that they think she’ll win.”

“ _What?_ ” said Heather.

“Well,” said Heather Duke, “pity does help, and—”

“ _Shut up_ , Heather,” Heather said. “I am supposed to be Prom Queen.”

“Sorry, Heather,” Heather Duke mumbled.

“Of course you are, Heather,” said Heather Mcnamara. “I’m sure they’re only rumours.”

But they weren’t. When Heather went to check the list of nominations later, there Martha’s name was. Right above hers. In a rage, she tore it down from the school bulletin board.

**_._ **

“What do you have there, Heather?” Her father asked her later during dinner. Heather cursed under her breath, quickly shoving the list into her back pocket. She hadn’t noticed her dad had been paying attention.

“Oh, nothing daddy.” She said, picking up her fork again.

“Heather,” her father said, putting down the newspaper next to his plate and focussing his heavy gaze on her, causing her to shrink back in her seat a little.

“It’s the Prom Royalty nominations, daddy,” she said softly, “but I don’t think I’ll get it. This stupid girl lost a leg and now everyone is going to pity vote her.”

You _don’t_ think you’ll get it? What have I always told you, Heather?”

“That life is a prom, daddy.” She said, looking down.

“Exactly. Now you’ll do what you have to do, yes? Don’t disappoint me, and mom.”

Heather shifted her gaze up to meet her mom’s, but static as always, her mom avoided her gaze.

“I’m sorry, mom!” she burst out.

“Heather! No hysterics.”

“But daddy,” she said.

“I don’t want to hear it,” her dad boomed, banging his fist on the table. “Go upstairs. And don’t you dare cry.”

**_._ **

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Heather. You stupid bitch. Why are you crying? Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.”

Dimly, Heather’s aware she’s hyperventilating, digging bloody gashes into her arms with her nails, but she can’t stop. If she hurts herself, she won’t cry, and her mother will not be disappointed. “Don’t cry, Heather. Don’t cry. You stupid, dumb cow. You’re not even good enough to be Prom Queen. You’ll never be good enough.”

Suddenly, footsteps outside have her holding her breath. _Please don’t hear me. Please don’t hear me. It’s better to whip than be whipped, I know, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again._

She stays curled up in a ball until the footsteps die away, until she hears the water turn off in the bathroom, until she hears the bedroom door open and then close with a definite click. Then she goes downstairs to talk to her mom.

“I’m so sorry, mom,” she whispers. Her mother smiles but doesn’t react further. “Won’t you say anything? Please say something.” Her mom avoids her gaze. “I understand.” Heather said, heavily. “I’m sorry.”

_Why does she never look at me? Why does she never hug me? Maybe I can hug her. But she’ll hate me. Better I just leave now. When I’ll be Prom Queen she’ll love me. And dad too. I know what I need to do. That crown will be mine._

The girl in the mirror looks back at her. She’s wearing a silver crown, holding blood red roses, wearing sash and sceptre, Queen of High School. Heather can almost taste the silver. She thirsts for it. _Just win. Just win and everything will be allright._

**_._ **

_(now)_

_“I don’t know,” Heather looked up from her bloody hands, shifting her gaze up and to the side. “Why do you think I did it?”_

**_Two months earlier_ **

“You really think putting up more posters will help?” Ram asked her. “The wall is already full.”

“I’ve got to do something, don’t I,” Heather snapped, punching the staple gun into the wall. “Now are you going to help or not?”

“I’ve got training. And you’ve got cheer squad. Aren’t you coming?”

“They can make do without me for one afternoon. This is more important. I _need_ that crown. Don’t you understand?” she asked him, turning to face him.

“Uhu,” Ram said, backing away hands half raised, and Heather realised she was still holding the staple gun up. “Hey, are you still coming over this evening?”

“ _No!_ I have work to do!”

“Okay, okay. Whatever,” Ram said. “Well, uh, catch you later I guess.”

A laugh behind her had her whirling around. “Who’s there?” She asked, only to see that freak of a new boy leaning against the wall, all anti-hero pose. He probably thought he looked cool, in that stupid trench coat. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“You mean another nobody like you?” he asked.

“I am _not_ a nobody,” Heather hissed. “At least everyone here knows my name, not like yours.”

“It’s Jason Dean,” he told her. “J.D. for short.”

“I don’t care. Why should I care? I am _not_ a nobody.”

“Hey,” J.D. said, smirking as he backed away, “Don’t be mad. I’m just stating facts, Princess. It’s not because they know your name that they’ll call it on that stage.”

“Don’t call me that.” Heather snapped.

“What should I call you instead? _Queen?_ Oh hey, you know what might help?” He said. “Lose a leg.”

“Argh,” Heather screamed, throwing the staple gun at him, but he had already ducked through the door. Tears of frustration spring to her eyes, and she pulls her hair until the sting distracts her from the tears.

**_._ **

_(now)_

_“I think you were unhappy. I get that.”_

**_One month earlier_ **

“What were you two doing talking to Martha Dumptruck?” Heather asked, furious.

“Oh haven’t you heard?” Heather Duke said maliciously, “she’s in, _you’re out_.”

“Shut up, Heather!”

“No. _You_ shut up Heather. You’re socially dead, haven’t you heard? All this time putting up posters and for what? Martha is still ahead. She’s going to win, and you’re going to lose. Just like you lost the squad, just how you’re going to lose your boyfriend and just how you’re probably going to lose your mind. You’re a _nobody_ now.”

“I haven’t lost my boyfriend.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Heather Duke laughed. “You should try and talk to him you know. Bye now.”

“Heather?” Heather asked Heather Mcnamara.

“Sorry, Heather,” Heather said, eyes shifting wildly between her and Heather Duke. “But Martha’s name is Dunnstock, you know. What you said was very rude.”

“What is _happening_?” Heather asked.

“Heather! Come on,” Heather Duke called.

“Bye, Heather,” Heather Mcnamara said, hurrying away.

“That’s okay,’ said Heather, digging her nails into her hand, “I don’t need them. I don’t need them. Don’t cry, Heather. Don’t cry. Life is a prom, and Queens don’t cry. Queens rise above. Queens are better.”

How she got home, she didn’t really know. One moment she was standing at her locker, watching Heather Mcnamara walk away from her, the next moment she was gazing unseeing at her screen, at the text that had popped up just three seconds ago and that simply said _I’m taking Martha to the senior prom. It’s over._

_._

_(now)_

_"Do you?"_

**_One week earlier_ **

“Why be so calm, Heather? Are you just going to let them walk all over you? You know there’s just no future for a _princess_ at prom.”

“Get out, get out, get out,” Heather screams, “get out of my head.” But her father’s words won’t leave. _Life is a prom, Heather. You’re just not good enough. If you don’t get the crown then what are you even worth. This is all their fault. This is all their fault. This is all **their** fault._

Heather Mcnamara

Heather Duke

Ram Sweeney

Veronica Sawyer

Ms. Flemming

Kurt Kelly

_Martha Dunnstock_

The crazed girl in the mirror stares back at her. Her hands are bloody. _Why be so calm, Heather? Do what you have to do, yes? Don’t disappoint me, **and** mom._

 _Mom. Mom. Mom._ _I’m doing this for you, mom. I’ll win this crown for you._

**_._ **

_(now)_

_"Yeah ... I think."_

**_Two days earlier_ **

“Buy yourself something nice, Heather,” her father says, handing her his credit card. “A dress befitting a prom queen maybe, hmm? Consider it your birthday present.”

Her birthday is in October.

**_._ **

_(now)_

_“So, why’d **you** do it?”_

**_One day earlier_ **

One - “I’m so sorry, Heather. Are we still good?” A sunny smile.

“Yes, of course. A toast. To friendship.” Her hands don’t even tremble.

_P for Poisoned Punch_

Two - “You don’t have the _nerve_ , Heather. You’re just a loser now. An outcast. A coward.”

It’s easier than it should be to lift the heavy rock.

_R for brains dashed against a Rock_

Three - She always hated the dumb expression on his face.

_O is for the shape his mouth makes when she bludgeons his brains in._

Four - “Heather, what are you doing?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? Carrie is all the rage right now.”

_M is for ending up Minced Meat_

Five – “Heather, we can talk about this. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

_Q is for a hippie Quietly drowning in the pool._

Six – “You killed my friend!”

_U is for Unique pieces spread around the school_

But ‘ _E_ ’s’ are for the easy way a one-legged girl can bring an " _N_ " by calling the cops.

**_._ **

The girl in front of her has never looked more beautiful. She’s got the crown, she’s got the sash, the sceptre and the bloody roses. She’s adored by everyone.

“Are you happy, now, mom?” She begs, as the red-blue lights and sound of alarms fill the gym. “Do you love me now? Are you proud? Are you and dad proud?”

 _You killed us, you killed us, you killed us,_ the ghosts surrounding her say. “You killed me,” says her mom, finally meeting her gaze.

“No!” Says Heather, “No! I did this for you! Daddy said I had to do what I had to do to keep you alive.”

A hand suddenly grabs hers, pulling her away, pulling her into a run. The surprise causes her to drop her mom. “No, I can’t leave her behind!” Heather says, but the hand is unrelenting.

“Stop!” Voices scream. “Stand still, or we’ll shoot!” But the hand pulls Heather along, pulls her up when she trips over her heels, and they’re out of the door, in a car, driving away before the police can catch up.

“Throw your cell phone through the window,” Jason Dean told her, hands steady and bloody on the wheel. Heather does as she’s told, fumbling to get it out of her pocket. She catches sight of herself in the mirror, silver crown still firmly planted on her head.

“I’m the Queen,” she whispers. “I’m the _Queen._ ”

**_._ **

_The only evidence we found was this, officer Walker tells his colleague, gesturing to the items stalled out on the table at the precinct: a bloody rock, a bat, a bloody rose and a frame._

_“What’s this?” His colleague asks him, picking up the frame, revealing a picture of a pretty blonde woman half-smiling, eyes focused on something beyond the camera._

_“The girl’s mother. Died when she was 10. Apparently, our suspect has been harbouring delusions that she’s still alive. Wanting to make her proud. Was talking 'to her' just before that boy pulled her away. Her father says he had no idea.”_

**_._ **

They stay the night in room in a pay-by-the hour rundown motel, the kind of place Heather would have never set foot in before, not with everything her daddy's money could buy. J.D. steps out and comes back with generic jeans and a cotton shirt. They burn her bloody dress in the bathtub. She keeps the shoes.

They sleep with a careful inch of distance between their crescent moon spines.

_**.**  
_

“So, why’d you do it?" Heather finally asks, the next day. "Why’d you save me?”

"Shitty dad right?" J.D. replies instead, "Dead mum. Always feeling empty and alone. Only feeling a semblance of control when you can claw your nails into your arms or freeze your brain."

Foot steady on the gas, new stolen car completely under control, J.D. takes her hand in his. “I think our mother’s have never been prouder, Heather.”

For the first time in forever, Heather cries.

**_._ **

_(The first time he kisses her, his lips taste like blood. But that’s okay. Hers do too)._


End file.
